The weekly sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1886-1887, 1887-01-13
For ne Sentinel.
ANOTHER LILY GATHERED.

!
| sing; az
Our darling swells the chorus of the beautiful
| on high,
And treads the pleasant pathway OF the City
of the sky.
How often, ah, how often do we have to say it
o'erd
Tho one than life far dearer, now, can never
sorrow more;
Our lovely flower blooms in a cline, where
frosts cannever fall.
AID yet it seems our wounded hearts mus,
break cen after all.
How desolate the home that late his presence
g1orifed;
How lonely are the evenings now around the
Preside;
A little golden head no mora rests on his moth
ers breast,
And with nameless woe a fathers heart is
sore opprest.
An only child beauteous boy-the one sweet
hope and pride.
The sheen upon his shining hair like sunlights
on the tide.
And eyes of summers deepest blue, when skies
are fair and clear;
No other eyes had ever been, or could be half
so dear.
Throughout the dreary hours sit and dream
of days gone by,
And as the bright scenes rise to view I breathe
a bitter sigh;
While drops steal adewn my check, which
yet 1 cannot stay,
For ever more feel the loss more sadly day
by day.
| Last summer when the roses bloomed so beau
tiful and bright,
The days Ispent within his home were filled
with sweet delight;
The hours few by on joyous wing, and in our
! mirth and glee,
We romped amid the fragrant flowers and chat
ted merrily.
The precious child was at my side; he loved
! his i" Auntie" so.
And I-ah, many time, 1 kissed his noble
brow of snow;
And with his cheek against my own held him
| Closely tneu,
Nor dreamed how soon my happy heart would
ache with cruel pain.
How swiftly sped my visit by; I left with sad
regret,
But still twas passing sweet to think how
pleasantly we met;
And now they tell me he is dead-the boy ]
loved SO well;
The grief 1 feel is far too deep for any words
to tell.
think of that poor mother, as she sits with
empty arms,
Within sorrow shrouded home robbed of its
dearest charms;
Childless- acknowledgement the day she list
in vain to hear
The ripple of merry laugh, from baby lips Sc
dear.
The father coming in at night, half hopes t.
greet his boy.
AS once in other days, when swelled a parents
pride and joy;
The little chair: seems once again to hold al
angel form;
0 God our loved one sleeps to night out in thu
winter storm;
Two years-two brief and blissfuI years, he liv
ed to light earth's way,
With one bright CLEAN of beauty for our CRATE
full hearts each day.
We thanked the Father for his gift, but ah
we had forgot,
1t was lent; the flower is gone and left
barren spot.
When far from home, the summons reached hi
father to return,
He sped in haste, and all the way his anxiou
heart did yearn
To see his child again; the illness might b.
something grave;
And in his restless soul there was longing
hungry crave.
I" The boy the boy he cries, as ON the stel
his feet are prest;
What meansithe white and anguished look
the countenance distrest?
From one who ever welcomed him witch smile
of beaming joy;
She leads the way, and there they kneel to
gether by the boy.
Pure a flake, still and white, the lip
| are silent now.
The golden curls rest lovingly upon the marble
/ brow;
The dimpled cheek is fairer cen then when h,
saw it last,
And from the blue eyes closed, the light foreve
more Is past.
No tear steals down the blanching cheek-th,
heart is locked with woe;